Love Can Help Me Know My Name
by Ansujali
Summary: This is the beginning of a modern, non-canon story which is yet to be written - of a lively, witty and successful female Hollywood producer with no family but 10 brothers nonetheless, and a relatively unknown writer/actor/director with his own little production company, a very private life and a huge heart. Playing in different leagues in the same business, but sharing a dream.
1. Chapter 1

I'm early. Too early actually.

I park my car in the spacious driveway of the equally spacious residence called _Pemberley_ in one of the upscale Los Angeles districts where I have my appointment. My brother's car is nowhere to be seen, so James is not here yet. We are scheduled to meet some Hollywood people here. Bigger names than ours. A lot bigger, James had said. They are interested in our work and would like to do some brainstorming with us.

I ring the doorbell. I don't know what to expect. James had said it would be an informal meeting, more like friends meeting friends. But I'm surprised when a woman in her late 50s opens the door, asking me my name and admitting me to the entrance hall, eventually. Her name is Mrs Reynolds. She smiles motherly at me and ushers me forth into a huge and comfy living room, easily able to hold 8-10 people comfortably, which gives way into an open kitchen area that she now turns to. Over her shoulder she tells me that _the_ _boys_ would be running a little late due to heavy traffic and that I should just make myself at home.

Okay, looks like this will be a truly informal meeting. With _the boys_? I shake my head and smirk, wondering what kind of Hollywood big wigs James has picked up as acquaintances who like to hold informal business meetings at home while Mom is cooking for them.

Really strange. But I kinda like it.

Mrs Reynolds gets a call on her cell and tells me she needs to fetch something and it will be only a short while and if I would mind staying alone for a few minutes? I raise my eyebrows. I find this odd that she would leave a stranger alone in her house but I shrug and say I wouldn't mind. After being reassured before she leaves that this is okay, I follow up on Mrs Reynolds' offer and give myself a tour of this floor of the house. Behind the large living room are several other rooms, loosely connected and adjacent to one another. The most impressive one something that looks like an entertainment room with an exceptionally large LED TV, all possibly existing types of games consoles, DVDs and Blueray players and what not – all state of the art as it seems. Many shelves with hundreds of movies and TV show DVDs. And a billiard table. Everything in front of huge windows that flood the room with broad daylight.

Everything in this house is big, huge, lacking nothing… And yet everything looks lived in, warm, tasteful but laid-back. Like home. Only on a bigger scale. I cannot imagine that only 3-4 people live in this house. This thing could swallow half a dozen people without each of them ever running into one another. Or so it seems.

Further down a small hall comes an office, its door wide open. There are more doors which I don't care to inspect. I feel weird enough wandering around in this house alone as it is.

When I take a short peek through the open door of the office, I'm surprised to see a woman standing there. Obviously I'm not as alone as I thought. Or as Mrs Reynolds made me believe.

The woman is leaning heavily on the backrest of a chair at the desk. It's immediately obvious that she is deeply distressed, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her lips quivering as if she is on the verge of crying hard.

What really captures my attention is not her enticing beauty with her interesting face, her full, warm chestnut hair flowing around her shoulders, her petite frame that shows shapely legs and arms and an overall appealing body – but her appearance of utter devastation and grave loneliness that she radiates like a beacon. It seems to fill the room and swallow the light from the windows, along with the notorious Californian warmth.

I hesitate. Now, what? Well... keep it simple.

"_Hey, are you okay?"_

She looks up to me slowly, defenseless, through watery eyes. It seems as if she is not surprised in the least that a stranger is standing in her office door in her home asking her if she is okay.

"_No, I'm not." _She says that quite matter-of-factly, as if she's used to feel this way. A sad smile._ "But thanks for asking."_

I'm sure I look dumbfounded or confused or both and honestly I am.

"_Uh.. can I help you in any way? Get you anything? Or anyone?"_

I don't know why but my enquiry seems to make her even sadder and the tears now stream down her face. Her voice gets hushed.

"_No, nothing and no one you could get… anywhere."_

I nod as in understanding what she means but I'm clueless as hell. Abysmal sadness emanates from her and, in contrast to her words, seems to scream at me for help at the top of her silent lungs. Like she's drowning but no one's there to keep her head above water.

I stand rooted to the spot. I cannot help. I don't know who she is. Or why she cries, for that matter. I don't know what to do. But looking at her I know for certain that I just cannot let her drown. So I opt for the first thing that pops into my mind.

"_Need a hug?"_

Don't know where that came from. It's not that I tend to hug strangers on a daily basis. Not even sad ones. Or pretty ones like her.

She looks at me as if she sees me for the first time within the few moments we know each other and eventually, the ghost of a smile tugs at her lips.

"_Yeah… Yes… I think I could really do with a hug. Badly so, even."_

This time I nod in agreement and slowly close the short distance between us. Hesitantly, my arms envelope her into an embrace that I expect to be awkward, given the situation. Instead, she melts into my body. Perfectly. Warmly. Homelike. It just feels right. And to my confusion, I'm not surprised.

And just when I think she would start to relax in my arms, she starts to cry in earnest. Silent sobs shake her. Violently. I feel the stream of her tears drenching my shirt. She holds on to me for dear life, her hands clutching my shirt into her fists at my back.

All I can do is hold her. Hold her above water and not let her go. My arms tighten around her, effectively telling her that she is safe. At least at this moment. Here. With me.

I don't know how much time passes until her sobbing ceases. She finally calms down and her breathing slows, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Eventually she relaxes in my embrace but doesn't break it.

"_Your shirt is wet. Sorry."_ She mutters. I smile softly.

"_Don't mind, really. It'll dry... Better now?"_

She leans back to look at my face, yet her arms still keep their hold of me at my waist. She returns my smile and I _swear_ the sun floods the room with light and warmth again when she does so. I feel rewarded. And content.

"_Yes."_ She nods, relieved. _"Yes, much better. "_

Her eyes hold my gaze with intense openness and for some reason only now do I realize that they are of a mouth-watering, deep, rich chocolate colour. With flecks of gold.

I love chocolate.

"_What's your name?"_

"_Lizzy."_

That name has a nice ring to it. It fits her.

"_Hi, Lizzy. I'm Will."_

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Honestly, I have no idea what this is. It's not a one-shot, but it's not a story, either (yet). I have quite a bit of background story flying around in my head for the characters and the environment this is supposed to take place in, including a role reversal and some non-canon stuff. It would involve the names and personalities of the 2001 trilogy of The Lord Of The Rings cast and production crew as a backdrop in the Hollywood industry (without me knowing anything about them, really).**_

_**Interesting or confusing? Do or don't?**_

_**Gah, I always swore myself never to write two stories simultaniously. Please, relieve me of this decision :-)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Will… That's a nice name. Suits a nice man. I like it." She still smiles. And she still holds me.

"Like the name or like the man?" I dare her. Grinning now. She answers with a fully lit megawatt grin, all teeth and cute little dimples.

"Fishing for compliments, are we?"

"Oh, _you_ obviously don't need to, and _I_ just can't help myself."

Lizzy guffaws, throwing her head back, baring her neck in the process. But she turns earnest again quickly, holding my gaze for a long moment, searching for… I dunno. She seems to find it, though.

"Thanks again. Really. That helped a lot... I don't know where you came from and why – but you came as a God send. So... thanks. I needed that." She leans in, still holding me at my waist, and places a soft kiss on my cheek. When she retreats, her eyes speak of gratitude and warmth.

"My pleasure." That grin is still stuck on my face. My cheek tingles where her lips have touched my skin. "If you ever need another hug, give me a call."

"I'll take you up on it. Promised," she replies with a wink. Then, she eventually breaks her hold on me and takes a step back. And my arms miss her immediately.

She looks at me curiously, now fully composed again. The devastated woman of a few minutes ago seems gone for good.

"So, Mr Nice Man, I'm Lizzy Bennet. What's your full name, Will?" Her name seems to ring a bell somewhere in my head, but I can't pin it down.

"William Darcy."

"Oh, as in James and William Darcy of '_Random Act'_?" She surprises me.

"Yeah. How do you know?"

"Well, Jake and Peter talked about wanting to have a session with you and your brother today."

"Ah, the ominous _boys_ Mrs Reynolds talked about."

"Did she?" Lizzy chuckles. "_To her_, we are all her kids, no matter what. You should run for the hills, otherwise she will adopt you, too. She likes nice men."

"Should I be worried?" I ask in mock horror.

"Nah, she's a great cook. She'll treat you well," she answers in a playful tone, then turns, grabs my hand and pulls me towards the office door. "Speaking of food…" She walks me back through the entertainment room into the living room / kitchen combo. "She would have my head if she knew you're saving me on a day like this and me not offering you some refreshments in return."

I need to keep myself from holding on to her hand when she releases it as we arrive in the kitchen, where heavenly smells of cake wave from the oven. Her touch befuddles me and evokes the instinctive urge to not let go and keep her close. Like her body belongs… to mine. I feel a little dazed. _Uh-oh._

"Coffee, tea, soft drink, water?"

"Are those brownies anywhere near ready?" I glance at the oven curiously, then turn to Lizzy, smiling apologetically. I don't know why, but for some illogical reason this house and Lizzy and Mrs Reynolds make me feel so trusted, welcome and at home here that I feel entitled to ask that question.

"Ah, William Darcy has a sweet tooth." Lizzy mocks me.

"I like sweet things." I hold her chocolate-eyed gaze. She doesn't look away. And smiles again.

For God's sake, I don't know what is is about her that keeps me acting like that. I can't remember ever flirting like that with a woman after only knowing her for a matter of minutes – that's _so_ not me. I'm more like slow and steady. Emphasis on '_slow'_, though. I'm not a natural in this field. I mean, there's a reason, I'm 36 years old and still single.

Must be fairytale land – the house has bewitched me.

And so did she.

"Can I ask you something, Lizzy?"

She looks up from the oven where she has been checking on the progress of said brownies just now, and slightly tilts her head, nodding. "Mmm-hmm." She turns off the oven and opens its door, pulling the sin-laden baking tray from the heat.

"Why did you cry?"

She stops her movement to look at me. I expect her to be anxious or sad again but she seems more like wondering about how much to tell a total stranger.

But then, I'm not a total stranger, am I? I held her and saved her from drowning. She held on to me. She trusts me, I guess. Sort of. And her body can melt perfectly into mine. And her lips. And her hand… Well, whatever.

She occupies herself with preparing the brownies for their predestined demise of being eaten. Her voice is quiet, but steady.

"Today would have been my older brother's 40th birthday." The tray rattles against the sink. "He died ten years ago." More rattling, then wiping the crusts from the tray. "It normally doesn't get to me like that, but today seemed harder than usual." The brownies are done being placed on a platter, so she looks up at me, leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands behind her back. "Maybe it's because Mrs Reynolds insisted on getting a special cake in his memory… since Tim would have turned 40. I dunno. It is something my mom would have totally done... So… maybe that's why."

Oh. Now I understand.

"I'm so sorry, Lizzy."

She shows a conciliatory smile. "Don't be. It's alright now, thanks to you. Besides, it's been a long time." She pauses. "Coffee? It goes well with the brownies you've been ogling," she continues playfully, obviously trying to ease the awkwardness that has emerged between us. I follow her lead and smirk in return.

"I'd love that, thank you."

She places brownies, dishes, sugar, crème and coffee on the huge but beautifully heavy wooden dining table and we get seated next to one another, around one corner of the table.

"I just _love_ chocolate. And gosh, these brownies are to die for. " I'm not kidding.

She chuckles while she very much enjoys her own brownie. "Make sure to tell Mrs Reynolds. She'll love you for it. And she deserves the praise. She always does."

"I take it she's not your mother?"

"Oh God, no! Although she acts like it more often than not," Lizzy laughs heartily. "You should hear her admonish me when I come back home late at night on my own from some function or meeting. _Definitely_ mother-like."

I furrow my brow. Mrs Reynolds definitely rises in my esteem, in addition to her baking skills.

"She's right, you know. This is L.A. after all – you shouldn't be scampering around all by yourself at night."

"Now look who's talking!" She burst out laughing. When her eyes meet mine again, she smiles sweetly at me, holding my gaze once more.

"My very own saviour," she whispers.

I look smugly and shrug my shoulders.

"Looks like I've taken on that job, you know. Sorry. I have a responsibility now," I state in mock seriousness and enjoy watching her laugh quietly at my antics.

"So, Mrs Reynolds is the housekeeper?" I continue. I'm nothing if not curious about people and the feels of this household and its occupants makes me want to find out more about them.

"Oh, she is much more than that. Housekeeper, mother-hen extraordinaire, good soul of the house, caretaker, cook, pastry chef, watchdog, chaperone, teacher of all things important in life… Something…like that...", Lizzy explained, waving a brownie-laden fork around.

I'm impressed.

"Wow, that's quite a job description."

"Yeah, it kinda evolved organically over the last 10 years since she lived here with us."

"Us?"

"Oh, you don't know? No?" She looks at me, obviously amused. "You have no clue, huh?"

I raise my eyebrows. She's right, I have no clue what she's talking about. I shake my head.

She grins impishly.

"Well, then, let me welcome you officially to _The Shire_, as I like to call it, although the official name is _Pemberley_. I think, _The Shire_ fits it better, though." She gestures around the room. "You happen to find yourself in the local residential community of the _Fellowship of the Ring_."

I frown. "_'The Lord of the Rings'_?"

"Exactly. Those of the cast and senior crew that do not live in L.A. permanently mostly live in this house when visiting or working here. We are all close friends and love not having to hang around in sterile hotel rooms. Here it's like living in one big family – with all that this entails. Mrs Reynold had been with us back in New Zealand already when we were shooting the trilogy and we lured her over here to take the helm at _Pemberley_ once we decided to buy it."

The light bulb that suddenly springs to life in my head could have blinded the whole city of L.A. temporarily.

"Oh my God – now I get it! You are _Lizzy Bennet_!"

"Wow. Congratulations, you still remember the name I told you 10 minutes ago. That totally gets you bonus points." She smirks.

"You are one of the producers of the '_Lord Of The Rings'_! I knew your name rang a bell for me. You won an Oscar!"

"Correct. Damn, I'm uncovered," she adds in mock exasperation, another megawatt grin gracing her face. Oh, those cute dimples.

_**A/N: Had this chapter sitting on my hard drive for some time now, feeling it was not finished but now decided to just post it… Still no clue where I'm going with this. Hell, I don't even know whether this will be some sort of recognizable P&P variation… or something completely different. Well, seems we'll find out together. Let me know your thoughts!**_


End file.
